


chasing silver

by demuname



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Family Feels, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Jeweler Suna, M/M, Prince Miya Atsumu, Prince Miya Osamu, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29756784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demuname/pseuds/demuname
Summary: Osamu doesn't like silver. All his life, Osamu has always been second to his twin, and silver always reminds him that nobody will ever see him and Atsumu the same.But maybe, a fateful meeting with a dark-haired jeweller can teach him to love his silvers.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	chasing silver

Blinding rays of the high sun have come seeping in, giving light to Osamu’s working chamber. Near the grandiose glass windows with balcony sits a wide, sturdy oak-wood table where Osamu works. Days are slow like this. Osamu has been sitting in his office since the morning, stuck with the endless paperwork requiring his inspection.

Next to the door stands his private aide and friend, Ginjima Hitoshi, who always accompanies him everywhere at almost any time of day.

“Hitoshi...” Osamu groans, laying his cheek on the table. “I’m hungry.”

Hitoshi sighs. “Ya just had lunch one and a half hour ago.”

“That’s long enough to go without snackin’. I don’t think I can stand it ’til afternoon tea.”

“Don’t ‘cha have something under yer drawers?”

Osamu is hungry often, and that’s the reason why he sneaks some of the pastries, bread, or biscuits from the palace kitchen into his drawers. But today, he woke up a bit too late and didn’t have a chance to say hi to Akagi-san - the palace baker – leaving nothing for him now.

“I’ve eaten it all,” Osamu mumbles sadly.

“The biscuits? All of them?”

“Yeah.”

Hitoshi furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head. “I can’t believe ya finish a  _ whole jar  _ in a day, Osamu.”

“‘Tsumu was being suspicious yesterday and I don’t want him stealin’ my biscuits, so...”

“That’s on you, then.” Hitoshi rolls his eyes. “Both of you are exactly the same. Kosaku has been tellin’ me about Atsumu’s habit of sneakin’ snacks in.”

Before Osamu can reply, a knock on the door interrupts their conversation, and Hitoshi opens the door. One of the Queen’s personal guards has come to deliver a message: The Queen has requested Osamu and Hitoshi’s attendance in the throne room immediately.

How… peculiar. His mother rarely calls for him for matters in the throne room - that’s more of Atsumu’s part of the job as the Crown Prince.

“Understood. Thank you for the message.”

Osamu follows the guard. Upon their arrival in front of the throne room, the two other guards in charge open the grandiose, white- and gold-coloured doors, revealing the spacious throne room. The room has white and gold tones, clear marble floors covered with a long, red carpet towards the throne where the Queen sits.

The guard and Hitoshi bows in front of the Queen, rising when the Queen gestures at them to.

“Please leave us be,” she speaks, and with another bow, the guard exits the room, leaving Osamu and Hitoshi alone with his mother.

“Mother.”

“Hello dear, how’s yer work goin’?”

“Good,” Osamu answers, biting off a grimace upon the image of the stack of papers that he still needs to finish, “I should be able to finish by tea time.”

She smiles and caresses Osamu’s head softly with her gloved hand. “Very well. Keep up the good work, Osamu.”

“Is there anything you need, mother?”

“Why yes. I believe you still remember about the crowns?”

Osamu nods. His mother told him and Atsumu three months ago that they will be receiving new crowns to celebrate their kingdom’s two-hundredth anniversary this year.

“I want you and Ginjima to collect them straight from the shop this afternoon. It’s incredibly precious, and I just have to make sure that it arrives at the palace safe and sound. That’s why I’m entrusting it to ya.”

“Understood, mother.”

She takes out a piece of folded paper and passes it to Hitoshi.

“Ginjima. This is the address. Please escort the Prince in safety.”

Hitoshi receives it with both hands and tucks it inside his uniform. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Osamu, please come back here immediately with the crowns once you have returned.”

“I will.”

“Thank you. Well then, you are now dismissed.”

Hitoshi and Osamu bow down before leaving the room, returning to Osamu’s private office.

“The shop. Where is it, anyway?”

Hitoshi takes the paper out and unfolds it. “It’s near the Inari Forest, around half-an-hour from the palace.”

“Ya know about it?”

“Of course. Everyone does. Surely, you’ve heard about the Suna family, haven’t ya?”

The name is familiar to Inarizaki’s royal family as the kingdom’s best jewellers. Their remarkable quality remains consistent over the decades, with extraordinary handcrafting skills passed down through generations. Most of the royal family’s jewels are of their craft, including Osamu’s current crowns, necklaces, and medals hanging on his royal regalia.

“Ah… yes, I’ve heard of them.”

“And to their shop we’re goin’,” Hitoshi mentions. In an instant, his expression hardens, staring hard at Osamu like it’s almost a glare. “But now, please continue yer paperwork, Your Highness.”

Osamu groans, knowing that there’s no running away, and picks up his pen to continue his work.

* * *

Osamu spent his afternoon tea fighting over the scones with Atsumu, which ended with Kita scolding them. Thankfully, Hitoshi bailed him out from Kita’s lecture and made their way into the shop. Laying low, they used a regular carriage to avoid the commotion. Soon enough, the lively city and square around the palace soon fade, with lesser buildings and people as they travel to the outskirts, more trees and bushes in between.

They stop in a small village near the forest’s perimeter. Osamu climbs down from his carriage, and in front of him is a rustic building made of wood, a plank hanging above the door written in white paint of ‘ _ Arginti _ ’. For a shop owned by the finest jeweller in the kingdom, it is undoubtedly… humble.

“Should we go in, Your Highness?”

Hitoshi’s voice breaks Osamu out of his reverie. “Yes, let us go in.”

Hitoshi pushes the door for him to enter. Inside the modest shop, only a tier of glass display is visible, racks padded in sleek silk underneath the line of jewellery. There are gold and silver necklaces, bracelets, earrings, brooches, rings, hairpins, pendants, and many other things which Osamu isn’t sure about.

A man walks out from where he sits behind the display and bows. “Welcome, Your Highness.”

“Good afternoon.” Osamu takes a look at the man - dark brown, slightly-combed down hair, narrow eyes with greyish-yellow irises, face portraying a neutral expression mirroring Osamu’s own. “By any chance, are ya Suna Rintarou?”

“Yes.”

“The Queen has sent me here to fetch some purchases she had requested.”

“Understood, Your Highness. Please excuse myself to deliver the items from the back.”

“You are excused.”

Suna walks through the curtains separating the main shop and the back, returning a minute later with two velvet boxes in his hand. He places them above the display, aligning them horizontally.

“May I open it?”

“Please do, Your Highness.”

Osamu turns the metal lock vertically and opens the blue velvet box. Sitting in cushions of silk is a golden diadem crown decorated in abundant, small diamond pieces, completed by emeralds, sapphires, and rubies that give colour and character to the crown. He removes his gloves and touches the gemstones, lips gaping as he appreciates the incredibly detailed handiwork - speechless like he is bewitched by its magic.

Simply  _ fascinating. _ Beautiful, extravagant crown meant for the Crown Prince.

Osamu closes the box and moves on to the next one. Similar to the one before, the silver diadem crown rests above the silk pillow. There are fewer gemstones than the golden crown, but there are more hand-drawn ornaments and motives. The details are made with the utmost care, lines smooth and unequivocal - so delicate and complex that Osamu is sure the design takes weeks until months to make, and only the best jewellers out there could possibly make it.

Yet, Osamu can't help but think, "Silver, huh."

"Forgive me, Your Highness, is it… not into your liking? I can remake it-"

"No, no, this is most certainly beautiful," Osamu says, with a slight smile on his face. "There's something that I wish to know, however… did the Queen request it to be silver?"

"No, Your Highness."

"Why silver, then?"

Suna's body moves back slightly as he presses his lips shut.

"Surely, the gold crown belongs to Atsumu. I'm merely… curious to know the reason why you chose silver for me."

"In all due respect, Your Highness, the main reason is that we often see you in silver accessories, and we simply think that perhaps… His Highness has an affinity to silver."

So that's what the people in his kingdom think: Osamu loves the colour silver. He can’t help but frown a little. It is an absolute contrary to what he actually feels, though no one except himself knows about it.

“I see,” Osamu mumbles, brushing the crown on his fingers, and closes the box. “A creation well done, Suna-san. I’m impressed.”

Suna’s expression glows up - so genuine that Osamu can’t help but feel happy too. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

With the help of Hitoshi, Osamu inserts the boxes into a bag he brought, pulling the ropes shut, and holds it carefully in his hands. His job here is done.

“Thank you for yer assistance, Suna-san. I’ll excuse myself first.”

“My pleasure, Your Highness.”

“Let’s go, Hitoshi.”

Hitoshi opens the shop’s door for Osamu and brings him back to the palace.

* * *

Osamu’s old friend, Akaashi - Fukurodani’s Crown Prince Bokuto Koutarou’s personal aid - is accompanying the prince to his visit to Inarizaki next month. The last time Osamu visited Fukurodani and spent time with Akaashi, he gave him a beautiful silver curb necklace with an owl pendant. This time, with Osamu as the host, he would like to return the gift to Akaashi.

The owl is the symbol of Fukurodani. A pendant of a fox would be lovely then. They would be exchanging gifts representing their kingdom.

That’s how Osamu found himself on  _ Arginti _ ’s doorstep again. The bell rings as he opens the door, revealing a dark-haired man sitting behind the glass display, arranging the pieces of jewellery inside.

"Welcome to  _ Arginti- _ " Suna greets as he looks up and freezes when he makes eye contact with Osamu. He straightens his back and bows. "Welcome, Your Highness."

"I'm sorry I surprised you with my presence. Please just call me Osamu and treat me like one of yer regular customers."

"I understand, Your High- I mean, Osamu-sama. Is there anything that I can help you with?"

"I want to order something." Osamu looks over the necklaces on display, and a simple, golden bead necklace catches his eye. "This one. Can you make a pendant to go with it?"

Suna slides the display open, reaches the appointed necklace, metal clinking softly against the glass. "Of course. Would you like to choose some gemstones to go with it?"

Osamu inspects the plain, classy necklace on his hand. "I was wondering if I could request a fox carving? It is meant to be a gift for a friend from an allied kingdom."

"Yes. Would you like for it to be carved on gold too, Osamu-sama?"

He pictures the calm Inari fox in front of the shrine near the forest in the form of crafted gold - it'll certainly look beautiful in gold. "Yes."

Suna pulls out a paper and pencil. "I will try to sketch some designs first. What kind of fox design do you have in mind?"

"I'm thinking of the Inari foxes in front of the shrine."

Suna nods, sketching out a shape of a fox sitting straight and dashingly on its legs - drawing so precise like the statue being copied on the paper itself. Osamu would mistake Suna as an artist instead, had he not known about his job.

"That's amazing," Osamu compliments, midway through Suna’s sketch. "I'm sure it'll look good once it's done."

Suna stops and hesitatingly raises his head up. "Forgive me for asking, Osamu-sama, but are you sure that you don't want to try for more designs?"

"Nah. I think that's good enough."

"...I understand."

"Is one month enough to make it?"

"Yes. The pendant should be done in one week, because we are still waiting for the gold to be delivered. We can send a letter to the palace and deliver the necklace when it's done if you'd like, Osamu-sama."

Osamu plans to come by again to take the necklace, but having it delivered sounds more tempting as it's quite troublesome to wander outside the palace without official protocols.

"Oh, that would be convenient," Osamu hums and moves to the cashier. "How much do I have to pay?"

"It'll be ten goldens, Osamu-sama."

Opening his money pouch, he pays Suna the exact amount. "Thank you for yer help today, Suna-san. I'm looking forward to yer arrival at the palace next week."

Suna looks a bit baffled as he bows in haste. “It's a pleasure to have you here in our shop, Osamu-sama."

"And please, just call me Osamu. Don't need to be so formal with me, Suna-san. I'm just another customer requesting for your service."

Suna nods. "Thank you for trusting our shop for your jewelleries."

With a final wave, Osamu leaves the shop and returns to the palace.

* * *

The necklace arrives exactly one week later.

Osamu is in the middle of his daily sparring with Aran when Hitoshi calls him that Suna has come to deliver a necklace to him. He excuses himself from Aran briefly and leaves the training grounds towards the main public hall where Suna is waiting.

"Good Morning, Your Highness," Suna calls, bowing. Osamu almost reprimands him again for being too formal, but he is reminded of his surroundings – they are in the palace. Guards are everywhere, and the royals are here. "I have bought the necklace that you have requested."

Suna presents him with a pouch. Hitoshi accepts it, inspecting it before Osamu does. After all, it's a part of their protocol - everything that is meant for the royal family is to be examined beforehand by a guard to make sure that it is safe. Osamu peeks in from the distance as Hitoshi palpates the golden necklace into the box, and finally, the pouch. After making sure it's all clear, Hitoshi presents him with the necklace.

Bathing in sunlight, the gold sparkles, reflecting the light. The fox-shaped pendant is beautifully shaped and incarnated in exquisite details. It's elegant, stunning even without colourful gemstones - Suna had created a fantastic work, and Akaashi would definitely love it.

"This is lovely," Osamu awes, touching the carvings of the fox. It makes him want to request something for himself too. "Thank you."

"Thank you for the compliment, Your Highness."

"Perhaps I'll see ya sometime later, Suna-san. You may go."

"I'll excuse myself, Your Highness."

Suna bids him a bow before he leaves with the guards who escorted him in.

Osamu returns to the training grounds with the pouch in his hand. Aran is now sparring with Atsumu, who decides to show up fashionably late, and in the sidelines, Kita Shinsuke is watching their training. Osamu takes a seat beside him to wait for Aran and Atsumu finish their session.

"Good morning, Osamu."

"Kita-san. It's rare to see you here."

"The King requested me to accompany Atsumu today for business with Nohebi this noon."

Nohebi isn't exactly on the best terms with Inarizaki, but they're not enemies. Their political relationship falls short in a somewhat neutral alliance, and with the Crown Prince - Daishou Suguru - newly crowned as King, he's proven to be quite a trouble to deal with, especially with Atsumu. He is easily riled up by Daishou, and having Kita to keep track of Atsumu's composure around the King is a wise choice to make. "Ah, that's going to be tough. Please do yer best, Kita-san."

"Don't worry, Osamu, I believe I have been assigned to a worse job than this one," he chuckles, much to Osamu's surprise. "Anyways, what do ya have there?"

"Akaashi from Fukurodani gifted me a necklace durin' our last visit there, and I wanted to repay his gift."

Osamu passes the box to Kita, and he unlocks the metal. Kita takes the pendant in his hand, scanning his thumb softly over the carved features.

"Ya brought this from Arginti, yes?"

"Wow, Kita-san, ya can tell just by a look?"

"My grandmother and I are in charge of the royal jewels. We're familiar with their peculiar quality. Do ya know that their family starts crafting jewels before they could even read?"

An image of Suna's calloused, coarsened fingers and darkened nails appear in Osamu's mind. Judging by his face, Suna is probably more or less around the same age as him, yet the difference between his fingers and Osamu's own are lucid.

"Are ya acquainted with them, Kita-san?"

"Yes. I used to be neighbours with their family before I moved into the palace. I know a lot about maintaining jewelleries through them."

"I see."

Osamu returns his attention to the battle in the arena. Atsumu is launching himself forward - he must be thinking that he has the upper hand, which is a big mistake - leaving a part of his torso open and vulnerable to attack. Aran sees this opportunity and punches Atsumu through the opening, sending him to the ground, wincing in pain. The match has ended.

"Idiot."

"Shut it, 'Samu!"

Aran helps Atsumu get up, and he moves aside. Aran calls for Osamu to continue their battle.

"Please tell me more about the royal jewels sometime, Kita-san."

Kita smiles. "Of course."

Osamu returns the smile and prepares himself for his training with Aran, leaving the velvet box on the sides.

* * *

In a newfound curiosity, Osamu finds himself in front of  _ Arginti's _ doorstep once again, much to Hitoshi's exasperation to make him stop procrastinating on his paperwork. He expected to see Suna inside the store, but instead, he is greeted with a stranger - a dark-haired girl, eyes similar to Suna – who is taken aback upon his arrival and bows in haste.

"Good- Good afternoon, Your Highness!"

"Good afternoon, miss…?"

"Suna. Suna Fumiko, the youngest daughter of the family."

"Pleased to meet you, Suna-san. I was wondering if Suna Rintarou is here?"

"Ah- yes, he's working in the workshop. The building is just behind here. I shall call him here if you wish to, Your Highness."

"No, no, there's no need," Osamu replies, afraid of disturbing Suna from his work. "I'll come back someday later. Thank you, Suna-san."

Right after he walks away, he hears the familiar lazy voice calling, "Fumiko, where did you put my mandrel?"

"Rintarou-nii-"

"Osamu-sama-" Suna greets the moment Osamu looks back, "Welcome. Is there anything we can help?"

Osamu holds in a chuckle upon Fumiko's nudging on her brother's arm in which Suna waves her off.

"Nah, not really, actually. 'M not here for business. I just wanna ask questions. Or talk. Whatever ya want to call it. But if ya have orders to finish, I won't bother ya."

Suna shakes his head gently. “No, not at all, Osamu-sama. I can finish it later."

"You don't hafta, really." It's not like Osamu is here with an important or urgent purpose. He has time to kill, but he doesn't want to impose the people from working jut to satiate his curiosity. "I'll come over sometime later."

"We can give you a tour around our workshop if you'd like, Your Highness," Fumiko interjects, "It's not rare for people to come to see us work."

She seems hopeful, and if they're willing, Osamu will take this opportunity. Better returning with something than nothing, after all.

"If I may..."

"It would be our pleasure to host you, Your Highness. Please, this way."

Osamu and Hitoshi follow them to the back, into the storeroom where various velvet boxes are stacked. Another door in the back reveals a small, unkempt garden filled with weeds, with a footpath made from stone. A wooden building stands a few metres away, presenting the kingdom's best jewellers' humble workspace. Inside, several big desks with tools are scattered all over the places; a heating corner made from stones to the left; and foreign machines of sizes and types that look intimidating and dangerous to use.

"Welcome to our workshop, Osamu-sama," Suna says, showing Osamu to a big crate on the near corner, "This is where we make our jewelleries from scratch. We store the raw materials here. We usually stock up silver and gold, but we do accept custom orders from other types of metals."

Suna opens the crates to reveal irregular chunks of silver and gold, which honestly don't look much different from regular stones to Osamu's eyes.

"We heat up the ores next so we can shape them," Fumiko explains, moving to the stone counters. "Once we get them into the shape that we like, we tune them into basic forms of jewelleries-" she grabs a circular-shaped metal from one of the desks, "-something like this."

The metal looks like one of Osamu's cuff bracelets. "May I take a look?"

"Certainly, Your Highness."

The half-made bracelet is in a thin, bent rectangular form. Its ends are still disconnected, metal still a bit rough and uneven to the fingers.

"How do ya connect the ends?"

"By heat. After that, we smoothen the rough edges out and adjust the sizes once again so it's comfortable to wear," Suna continues, showing a plain, silver cuff bracelet. "Here's an example. It's basically done at this point."

Osamu compares both metals, the bent metal on his left hand and the plain bracelet on his right. The joints are invisible on the bracelet, and the metal smooth to the skin, unlike the half-finished one on his left.

"Do ya carve the designs all by hand?"

"Yes." Suna pulls out a chair on a table where a desk lamp is on, magnifying glass in the middle, and rounded metals scattered above. "Would you like to see how, Osamu-sama?"

Osamu nods, licking his lips unconsciously as Suna works his hands under the magnifying glass, holding a small ring and a burin. He has the ring steady on his left fingers as his right-hand works on carving the metal through the burin. Sheets of thin metals are scraped, forming a curvy dent on the silver. Osamu watches how Suna makes another line after one, eyes and hands focused as he does it continuously, muscles so experienced that it looks naturally easy. It's new and unfamiliar, and he's captivated by the graceful scars above the silver.

At some point, Hitoshi pushes a chair to Osamu. He sits and continues to watch Suna work.

"How long does it usually take to finish one design, Suna-san?"

Suna's hands stop moving as he turns to Osamu. "It depends on the type of jewellery, the complexity of the designs, and our waiting list. I would say that this one would take around one week or so until it's completely polished."

"...One week."  _ For a small ring.  _ Osamu and Atsumu's jewellery collection is large enough, not to mention their parents' and the royal jewels collection – just how much time the jewellers had spent to design those brooches and sceptres? Osamu himself does wood carvings quite often, and it definitely takes a shorter time to finish.

"Suna-san, is it okay if I ask ya some questions as ya work? Ya don't need to stop every time say anythin'."

"Of course."

Osamu asks him about the jewellery he has worked on and about the diadems the Queen ordered. In addition, Suna tells him about the royal jewels his family has created for generations and how Osamu and Atsumu's new diadems are his first work dedicated to the royal family, which he was incredibly nervous about working with. Osamu shares his first wood carving of a pendant box that he gifted to his mother and remembers feeling the same.

They talk about trivial things, exchanging each other's stories, but in a few hours Osamu watches Suna works, it almost feels like reconnecting with an old friend. Suna would occasionally sprout some jokes, which makes Osamu laugh – it feels so easy to get along with him.

The sun is about to set when Hitoshi disturbs his reverie, putting a hand on his shoulder to remind Osamu that it's time to go back. With a tiny disappointment, he raises up from his seat.

"Thank you for accommodatin' me for my visit today, Suna-san. I had a great time. I'll excuse myself for today."

Suna gets off his work, throwing them a small smile, and walks them to the exit. "It's my pleasure to have you here, Osamu-sama."

Suna waits for Osamu to enter his carriage outside of the shop, and before Osamu climbs up, he turns back once again.

"Hey, Suna-san?"

"Yes, Osamu-sama?"

"Call me Osamu. Just Osamu, without any honorifics."

Upon it, his brows furrowed, lips twitching like he's unsure what to say.

"Just do what he wants ya to, Suna-san," Hitoshi mentions, rolling his eyes. "He's persistent. Believe me."

"Well, yer kind of my friend now by now, don't ya think, Suna-san?"

Suna's eyes widen, blinking several times as he stays silent. Still in hesitation, he raises his hand for a wave. "I'll see you next time… Osamu. ...Please call me Suna in return."

Satisfied, Osamu climbs into the carriage. "Bye then, Suna."

* * *

Osamu’s visit to Arginti becomes a regular occurrence. He would stop by once every one or two weeks, spending more and more of his free time in the old shop. He becomes acquainted with Suna’s family sooner than later. Heck, even Hitoshi is friends with Suna and his family too. Suna’s mother would welcome Osamu and Hitoshi to join them for meals, home-cooked by herself – which tastes heavenly, despite the humble use of ingredients – though Hitoshi had warned him to stop when Osamu got sick the morning after his first meal in the house. Through his family, Osamu learns the living of common people, which is a whole new experience to Osamu, who lived all his life being respected and looked up to through his status as the kingdom’s prince – a life with much fewer rules, manners, and protocols; a life where real bonds are formed between villagers, and how they live happily without anything extravagant in their lives.

On Osamu’s last visit to Suna’s shop, Suna promised him that he would take him for a getaway. He didn’t tell him any details, insisting that it would be a surprise, giving only vague information for them: to wear boots the next time they come. Osamu suspects that whatever they are going to do today would involve getting dirty.

Suna has been waiting outside his shop when they arrive. Hitoshi parks the carriage and their horse on the shop’s shed behind.

“Nice pair of boots you both have there.”

“Hey,” Osamu greets, eyeing the sling bag over Suna’s shoulder and his boots – which were stained dirty with mud. “Are we going to get on the dirty stuff today? At least give us some hint about it, Suna.”

Suna hums, tilting his head a little, almost like he’s reluctant to give any hints out. “I wouldn’t say dirty. I can assure you there won’t be mud or something of sorts.”

“Good,” Hitoshi piques up, looking at his own sparkling boots. “I really don’t want to clean them later.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to take you both somewhere interesting.”

“Are we walkin’ there?”

“It’s around twenty minutes’ walk from here. If you want to use the horse, feel free to use ’em, but my horse is being used by my old man, unfortunately.”

Osamu and Hitoshi agree to follow Suna by foot, entering the forest that’s located not far from where the shop is. This forest is familiar to them - they trained a lot in the forest when they were kids, rough blueprint memorised in the back of their minds. However, in the middle of their way, Suna pushes the thick bushes on the left away to reveal a hidden footpath that they have never seen before.

“This is a shortcut,” Suna explains, “We’ll get there much faster through this road.”

The footpath is terrible. It only fits one person, and it’s filled with mossy stones that threaten their demise, and it’s filled with sharp twigs and plants. The further they walk, the wetter the soil is, making it harder and more slippery until they reach another hoard of bushes. Suna pushes it aside, and they arrive in front of a riverbank.

“Oh, so this is where the river ends,” Osamu says, now walking on the higher grounds. The trail here is much better than the muddy footpath, sturdy and clear without grass.

“You can only reach it through that footpath, since the stones block the riversides.”

The trail inclines up as they walk higher into the mountains. There are passerby’s in between, clothes and face dirty with hands holding heavily-looking sacks above their shoulders. A glance is all they need before they greet and bow to Osamu in bewilderment. Osamu greets them back and cheers them to keep up their work.

The road becomes uneven with rocks and stones, and finally, they arrive in front of something that looks like a cave where people walk in and out, carrying minerals in wagons.

Oh, so this is how a mine looks like.

A tall, lanky man catches their eyes and approaches them.

“Welcome, Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” Osamu replies, urging the man to stand up straight, a bit uncomfortable with all the attention. He’s here as a guest, after all.

“We can skip the formalities, Oomimi-san,” Suna mentions, right after taking a quick glance at Osamu. “The prince wants to lay low.”

“...Understood.”

“Anyways, I’ll take him for a tour around here.” Suna points out the minerals in the ground. “Seems like you have a lot to do.”

“Okay.”

Oomimi gives Osamu a short nod, putting his hat back and returns to his work.

“We’re going inside. Don’t forget to grab one of the helmets there.”

There are stacks of helmets right in front of the entrance. The mine is quite neat, with a track in the middle and lamps installed on the sides. It gets darker as they go deeper as sunlight from the outside becomes minimum, and inside, several people are mining for the minerals using their picks, sounds of sharp hammering echoing throughout the mine. There are wagons of abstract-looking stones that Osamu can’t differentiate. Suna grabs on an unused pick and starts mining for something around where they are standing.

Suna passes him the pick. “Do you want to try?”

Osamu nods and tries his best in copying how Suna and the other miners work. It’s harder than it looks - they make it look so effortlessly while Osamu struggles just to pick on some stones. He then passes it to Hitoshi, and they mindlessly pick on the minerals randomly.

Suna picks up chunks of stones of various sizes from the rubble Osamu and Hitoshi created and throws them into one of the miner’s wagons.

“Believe it or not, you both got some silver out like that.”

Hitoshi turns to Osamu with sparkles in his eyes, holding his hand up in the air, in which Osamu high-fives in return.

“This is fun.”

Suna smiles, removing his gloves, and puts them into his pocket as he leads the way out. “Then perhaps I’ll take you both back here again, sometime.”

Osamu would love that. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

* * *

“‘Samu, what are ya doin’ for today?”

Upon Atsumu’s voice, Osamu looks up from his sword that he’s cleaning. “Nothing much. Just trainin’ and accompanying the Duchess from the West horse riding this afternoon.”

“Yer free now, right?” Atsumu asks, sheathing his own sword out. “Spar with me. Loser shares their cake at tea time.”

Osamu never backs down from a challenge, especially coming from Atsumu and with food on the stake. He brings his sword forward. “Bring it on, loser.”

Atsumu takes on the offence first-hand, clashing his sword with Osamu’s in brute force. In terms of sword fighting, they both are almost equally tied. He’s better in defence while Atsumu is better in the offence, which comes to an advantage when they are both fighting a common enemy. In a one-on-one match with each other, however, it’s usually a battle of wits, stamina, and concentration to reach victory. Osamu holds the upper hand of 215 wins to Atsumu’s 213 wins.

Seeing an opening after a parry, Osamu swiftly changes his direction of attack. Atsumu catches on and dodges, quickly counterattacks with a hard hit above Osamu’s fuller, almost throwing his sword away from his grip. In reflex, he holds his sword tighter and moves back several steps, bracing himself for another attack that Atsumu has more in his sleeve.

The adrenaline of metals clashing each other comes to a stop when a deep, baritone voice calls, “Osamu.”

_ Oh no.  _ Osamu lowers his sword immediately, and so does Atsumu, looking to the entrance where their father is standing, arms crossing in front of his chest. Displease is evident in his face, and by the icy tone of his voice, Osamu knows he’s in for trouble. Cold sweat comes dripping on his scalp, and his heart picks up its pace despite pumping fast enough from the spar.

“Yes… Father?”

“Do ya not know about yer brother’s responsibility for today? He still has some obligations that he needs to finish before  _ playin’  _ with you. Is it because Shinsuke is not with Atsumu today that ya think ya can drag him to whatever yer heart pleases?”

Osamu grits his teeth, holding in the fear and anger bubbling up inside him upon the false accusation, but before he could reply, Atsumu retaliates.

“Father, it’s not Osamu who’s-”

“Did I ask ya to explain, Atsumu?”

Atsumu bites his lip and lowers his head. “No, Father.”

“Answer my question, Osamu.”

“No, Father.”

“Must I be the one who looks out for the Crown Prince in return if Shinsuke is not here to prevent ya from distracting him?”

Fire burns inside Atsumu’s honey eyes, his lips pressed into a tight line. Osamu holds back the urge to release a sigh. It has always been like this - by now, there’s no point for Atsumu to feel bad and apologise because there’s nothing they can do to change anything. Innocent or not, Osamu will always be the black sheep, but Atsumu is not to blame.

Biting the insides of his mouth, Osamu maintains his neutral, impassive expression. “No, Father.”

“How many times have I told ya about this over and over again, Osamu?” he fumes, clicking his tongue. “Please get it through that thick head of yers. At least ya can learn to be responsible.”

“Yes, Father,” Osamu replies on autopilot. The storm inside his chest is dead calm, leaving him empty and numb. “I will work harder on it.”

From the distance, he can hear him scoff, but Osamu doesn’t care anymore. He stopped caring years ago. All he can do is to endure his fate as the second prince.

“Atsumu, go back to what ya have to do.”

“Yes, Father. I’m sorry for my irresponsible behaviour.”

The King grunts and exits the room, leaving a heavy tension and silence in the air. Osamu calmly wipes his sword again, returning it into its scabbard, as Atsumu inserts his into his sheath.

“I’m sorry, ‘Samu.”

“Ya don’t hafta apologise every time we get in trouble, ‘Tsumu.” Osamu picks up his scabbard and pats Atsumu on his back. “Don’t worry about it. The bet is still on. Let’s continue when yer free.”

Osamu doesn’t expect Atsumu to reply to his attempt in lightening up the mood, in which he doesn’t - and with a final reassuring look, Osamu walks away. Alone, his jaw clenched tight with hands gripping hard on the leather of his scabbard, breathing fast and heavy as he tries to calm himself.

_ How unfair. _

* * *

It’s Osamu's first free day after months busy working with official documents for the kingdom’s internal affairs. He wakes up a bit later, skipping his daily practice to sleep, and enters the palace kitchen after a shower.

Osamu has always wanted to share his cooking with people someday, not just with the palace people. Cooking to impress, Osamu whips up two bento boxes filled with rice, grilled eel, stir-fry vegetables, and some seasonal pickles. When he’s done, he goes to Suna’s place alone since Hitoshi has a monthly evaluation to finish.

“Hey, Osamu,” Suna greets after a glance up from his newspaper, “You seem awfully happy today.”

“I don’t have work today,” Osamu says, placing the  _ furoshiki _ -wrapped boxes on the cashier table. “Ya have lunch yet?”

“No. My shift ends in ten minutes. Where’s Gin, by the way?”

“He’s not joinin’ us today.”

“Oh, okay. Mind waiting for me in the back?”

“Sure.”

Osamu marches into the staff area behind the curtains, sitting ungracefully on the wooden floor. He feels restless, bento boxes heavy in his hands. This is the first time he has ever cooked for anyone outside the palace grounds, and he’s not sure whether Suna would like it. Osamu opts to snoop around the boxes and items to calm his nerves down, identifying some of the tools that he saw during his last visit to Suna’s workshop and playing with them.

“Sorry for making you wait,” Suna says as the curtains flip open. He walks into a corner and fetches a rolled mat. “How about a picnic? The weather’s good today.”

Today, the high sun is gentle, and there’s wind blowing. They walk to a nearby grass field, where cows and horses from farms feed on. In the middle of the area sits a giant, stray oak tree that provides them good shade from the sun. Suna rolls out the bamboo mat, and Osamu opens the  _ furoshiki,  _ giving Suna one of the boxes.

“Oh, fancy.” Suna rubs his fingers on the golden floral embroidery on the box and taps on the lid. “Can I open it now?”

“Go ahead.”

Osamu nervously waits as Suna picks up the chopsticks, cutting the tender eel in between, and with some rice, takes a bite of it into his mouth.

“...Is it good?”

Suna is still chewing when he nods, eyes sparkling as he gulps down the food. “Oh wow. So this is what royals eat everyday?”

“Nah, it’s a special menu, actually,” Osamu shrugs, tilting his head sideways. “I made it myself.”

“You  _ cook? _ ” Suna grins. “No way. I can’t even cook an egg to save my life. Don’t you have chefs inside the palace?”

Osamu chuckles light-heartedly. “You can say it’s a hobby.”

“Damn. You can open a restaurant like this.”

“Maybe in another life.”

Osamu urges Suna to continue eating, enjoying each other’s company in silence. The sounds of leaves rustling by the wind, cows mooing, and horses neigh – all the background playlist creates a warm, relaxing atmosphere. It’s calm, chill, and it’s carefree, something that he doesn’t have the luxury of lately, and Osamu is lost in his thoughts.

“Have ya always wanted to become one?” Osamu asks, absent-mindedly looking far to the fields, focusing on nothing in particular. “Bein’ a jeweller, I mean.”

“Honestly? No. But someone has to continue the business, right? It’s not like I was given any choices to start, anyways.”

A dull pang twinges in his chest - he, too, didn’t choose to be a prince, nor was given another path to. There are a lot of people out there who feel the same. Is it natural for people to yearn for the things and opportunities that they can’t have?

“...What do ya really want to be?”

Suna hums like he’s drawing out time out of it. “I’ve always liked drawing. Back when I was a kid, I liked drawing the jewellery designs more than crafting one. I would go out and draw stuff in my free time. I thought it’s nice if I could become an artist instead.”

“If yer an artist now, I bet you’d be really famous for yer talent.”

“Maybe. But sometimes, it  _ does  _ get boring. When I got older, I thought becoming an information broker is also interesting, since I have the connections and all.”

“Wait, really? Ya know that’s illegal, right?”

“Yeah, but I still want to, anyway. It’s fun.”

Osamu falls into fits of laughter, and Suna cackles along with him. It’s nice, spending his time with Suna alone, free from any chivalrous upfront and image to maintain. Right now, they are only two regular people fresh into adulthood, relaxing in the middle of the vast green - and for that short moment, forget about the things they have on their shoulders.

“I really can imagine ya bein’ one, though. Yer gonna be that guy who sells overpriced information.”

“You know me well.”

Osamu smiles and silently wishes for more opportunities like this.

* * *

Much to Osamu’s chagrin, he and Atsumu have joint paperwork they have to finish today. Stacks of paper on the table awaits to be done as they scribble in silence. He had plans to visit Suna today, and if he procrastinates now, he won’t finish by afternoon, not with these ungodly works they have to do. Several royal board members have just been evicted months ago due to corruption, and without an immediate replacement, both he and his twin is stuck doing the dirty work - though he can’t deny the fact that everything has gone much smoother with both of them handling the documents.

He deals with his share of papers quickly and efficiently, not budging even when Atsumu sits back to munch on the snacks he smuggled in. Osamu can feel Atsumu’s eyes upon his figure, but he chooses to ignore it.

“What’s with ya today, ‘Samu?”

“Nothing. I just want to get this done.”

“Bullshit,” Atsumu snorts, throwing a crumpled paper ball to Osamu’s head. “Are ya plannin’ to sneak out again?”

Osamu glares at Atsumu, picking up the paper ball and throws it right into Atsumu’s face. “I’m not sneakin’ around. I have  _ plans. _ ”

“Right. Plans. You.” Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Ya don’t even wanna go to the square with me, or anyone else! Spit it out, or else I’m telling mum yer bein’ suspicious!”

Osamu’s nose crinkles as he cringes. “What are ya, five?”

“Not my point.”

He doesn’t have time for this. Atsumu can fuck off. “Whatever. I’m seeing a friend. Shut up and let me do my work.”

“Oooh, _a friend?_ Ya never tell me about this, ‘Samu.” Atsumu beams, pushing away his snacks and returns to work. “I want to know who this friend ya sneakin’ up with. I’m joinin’ ya later.”

“ _ No. _ I won’t let you.”

“Too bad, I’m goin’ to come anyways.”

There’s no stopping Atsumu from doing what he wants. Osamu groans, kicking Atsumu in the shins and continues reviewing the documents.

Well, whatever. Suna won’t go along with an asshole like Atsumu anyways, and Atsumu will stop bothering him to leech along.

* * *

Apparently, Suna goes along with Atsumu really,  _ really  _ well.

Suna drops his professional, respectful facade the moment Atsumu chides in on gossip about the town’s baker’s daughter flees the house because she refused to be betrothed. Atsumu has been prying about this information from the servants and guards since he knows the girl quite well, and he’s incredibly curious about it.

“Here’s an insider’s information,” Suna whispers, urging Osamu and Atsumu to move closer, “I heard from one of her friends who said that she eloped with some guy from Kamomedai.”

“ _ Seriously?  _ Damn. I met the guy once and he doesn’t seem promising. That kind of guy won’t be able to take care of a girl. She’s better off going back here and live with her parents.”

“You know the guy?” Suna hisses, “No one has seen him before. But they say he’s quite tall and handsome.”

“Honestly? He looks like a hermit who’s been illegally freeloadin’ in our forests. I swore I saw him once barefooted with mud behind her house.”

Osamu leans back and listens to his twin and his friend instantly getting along through the town’s gossip. It’s been a while since Osamu last saw the spark in Atsumu’s face – he doesn’t have many friends after all, and Osamu knows that Atsumu is happy to meet someone he can befriend. Though, he didn’t expect that Atsumu’s shameless hobby has its side perks to make friends. He’s never really interested in the town’s gossip, except for one or two, despite knowing many of them from Atsumu to start a career as the kingdom’s spy. Osamu’s sure that Suna and Atsumu would make better secret agents than their kingdom’s actual spies if needed. Who would’ve thought that a prince and a jeweller have this kind of rotten talent, anyways?

They finally bid their goodbyes when the sunsets. Atsumu promises Suna that he’ll come back, and Suna playfully shoos him away.

“He’s a cool guy,” Atsumu beams, waving his hand through the carriage window.

Osamu leans to the window, watching Suna’s disappearing figure. He’s glad that Suna accepts Atsumu as he is also.

“I know. It’s a shame that ya get along with him too.”

* * *

On his last visit, Suna mentioned a good restaurant that Osamu may like and offered to take Osamu there on his next visit. After saying it to Hitoshi, he walks along the hallway, away from his study, to fetch his horse.

However, just as Osamu passes the throne room, one of the guards in front of the door calls for him.

“Your Highness, the King has requested for ya to enter if ya happen to pass here.”

Can he refuse the guard’s message and make him keep his mouth shut? There are only bad omens whenever the King calls for him. What did he do now, _again_?

Taking a deep breath, Osamu runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Open the door.”

Inside, his father stood, watching the rain through the windows, both hands resting behind his back. Osamu waits for the doors shut, back standing straight, and asks, “You’ve called for me, father?”

The older man doesn’t answer, like Osamu’s presence absent inside the room. He holds back the itch to click his tongue, hands forming into fists.

“I noticed that you’ve been sneakin’ away from the castle lately,” he says, tone tight on the edges, “Where have ya been?”

“To a friend’s place.”

“ _ Friend _ ?” The King scoffs mockingly, “So you’ve been neglecting your duties to play around with a  _ friend?  _ You can’t drag Atsumu into yer foolish shenanigans, and now yer seeking it elsewhere?”

_ Neglecting his duties? _ Osamu always finishes all the work he has before he leaves the palace. If anything, now that he has the motivation, he’s been making sure to complete his work in time. All this time, his stupid excuse of a father can only condemn and accuse Osamu without knowing any basic facts? Osamu swears his father is losing his common sense by his irrational hatred towards him.

“I’ve always finished my work before doing anythin’ of my liking. What makes ya conclude that I’ve been neglecting my duties, father?”

The King slams his hand into the window glass, voice echoing inside the vast room, and shouts, “ _ Ya dare to talk back, ya ungrateful child?  _ All you’ve been doing is runnin’ away from your duties through your pitiful excuse. Yer a royal. Are you trying to humour yourself by calling someone a  _ friend _ ? Don’t make me laugh _. _ ”

“Then answer me, _old man,_ ” Osamu yells back, venom dripping in every word, “What the actual _fuck_ do ya know? Ya don’t know _anything._ Don’t get it wrong. It’s the Queen who brings this kingdom into prosperity, not you. She’s the one who the people adore. Yer nothing without the Queen. Get that shit through yer head. You don’t give any fucks about yer children, let alone your people. And ya call yerself a royal? Yer the one who’s a _disgrace._ ”

Red blooms into the King’s face. Osamu stomps towards the door, opening it with force, the sounds of thrashing and yelling in the background unheard. Blood rushes inside his ears, breathing heavy with air burning his lungs, and his whole mind and soul engulfed in an uncontrollable rage that has been piling up for years. All his life, he tries to do the best for his parents and his kingdom, sacrificing his feelings and things that he truly wishes for - all futile.

With flames still threatening to burst out, he marches his way towards the back door. Before he can open it, a familiar, obnoxious sing-song voice calls for him.

“Runnin’ away to play around with yer boy-friend again _? _ ” Atsumu mentions, putting an unwelcome hand on Osamu’s shoulders. “I wish I could ditch dinner with General Kurosu later. Ah, I’m so jealous- hey, wanna switch out with me? I’ll give ya my share of cake tomorrow.”

“ _ Jealous? _ ” Osamu snarls, swatting Atsumu’s hand away on his shoulders. “Of  _ course _ . Ya have all the privileges in this world and yet, it’s still not  _ fucking  _ enough-”

_ “What _ ?” Atsumu says, his hands still in the air. “‘Samu, what’s wrong-”

“ _ Everything. _ ” Atsumu and his perplexed expression, his strikingly red royal tunic, his presence - all of him brings only annoyance, and Osamu is suddenly sick of him - he wants Atsumu to be gone from his surroundings and keep his mouth shut. “Is that how it is? No matter how good ya get to live, it will never be enough. Does it feel good to know that ya can have it all, being the  _ Crown Prince? _ ”

His voice is distant even to his own ears, but it does feel  _ good _ to finally let it out. Atsumu lurches to yank his collar, bringing his face close to him, fury in his eyes as he spats, “ _ What the fuck are ya babbling on about? _ ”

The fist that has been resting on Osamu’s sides comes flying into Atsumu’s cheek, sending him stumbling back. “Like you’d understand anything,  _ Your Highness. _ Go ahead and cry for help. I’m sure  _ everyone  _ would protect their precious Crown Prince, even from  _ me. _ ”

Atsumu retaliates, punching Osamu back in the cheek.

“Do ya really think I want to be one in the first place?” Atsumu whispers, voice as calm as a millpond, and before Osamu can react, he is shoved into the wall, and Atsumu shouts, “Do ya think I have a  _ choice? _ If I did… I rather choose to be  _ you _ .”

Atsumu’s voice deflates word by word, raspy voice sounding broken as drops of tears wells from his angry eyes, and without another word, he leaves. Osamu rubs his cheek, throbbing from the punch, jaw clenched as he slams the door shut when he exits. Outside, the heavy downpour is still ongoing - if not getting worse - but Osamu doesn’t care. He lets the cold raindrops drench his head and clothes, and with his reluctant horse, he rides away from the palace aimlessly. The view is a blur, hazy from the rain, and Osamu’s ears are deafened by the rumbling sounds in the background as he pours everything out.

Is this how everything is going to be for all of his life? If this is what it means to become a royal, Osamu doesn’t want it.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been outside, soaking up all the cold until he lost all of his tears and voice. It takes a while for Osamu to grasp a hold of himself back again, and when he does, his horse comes to a stop. He rubs his eyes to make out where the hell he’s currently at-

_ Arginti,  _ written on the plank.

Right.

Osamu leads his horse into the shed and walks back into the shop’s main door. Taking in a deep breath, he brings both of his hands into his cheeks, hard, to brace himself before he enters. The shop is warm, and just the sight of Suna behind the counter makes every weight on his shoulder lighter.

“Welcome-” he greets, looking up from his sketchbook. “Osamu? It’s raining outside- what happened to you?” Suna stands up, grabs Osamu’s wrist, and drags him towards the workshop. “You’re soaking wet- come in, let me get you a towel.”

It’s unusual to see Suna all worked up over something that Osamu thinks it’s trivial. The hand encircling his wrist feels warm against his cold skin- how would it feel if those hands are inside his palms instead? Will those rough, calloused hands warm up his frozen fingers too?

Osamu is so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t realise he’s in front of the fireplace now. His clothes’ dampness is still dripping onto the floor, but he doesn’t feel cold anymore. “Stay here and warm yourself up. I’m getting you something to change.”

In his hazy state of mind, Osamu crouches down to the floor and sits with his legs wrapped up in his chest. Suna talks to his sister about something, followed by loud footsteps, but Osamu doesn’t pay attention to any of it. Right now, all he knows is that it’s warm as he stares blankly into the blazing fire.

“Osamu,” Suna calls, creaking him from his muse. He passes him a set of clothing and a towel. “Here. Go change first. The bathroom is on the corner.”

Suna helps him up with a hand. Osamu carefully holds on to the clothes so that they won’t get wet and goes into the bathroom to dry himself up. He changes into the fresh clothes Suna lends him – it fits well, though a bit tight around the shoulders, cotton a bit rough into the skin, and there’s a familiar, underlying scent seeping through the cloth.

When Osamu exits, Suna has been waiting for him. “Give me your clothes. I’ll dry them off for you.”

“Thank you,” Osamu whispers, voice hoarse and weak, “I’m sorry for bothering ya- I’m just-”

“Shh.” Suna pats his back, “It’s okay. Don’t force yourself to explain.”

He leads Osamu to a chair while he hangs the wet clothes by the fireplace. When Suna is done, he invites Osamu back into the shop, keeping him company while continuing his shift in the shop. Suna serves him a cup of hot tea and asks no questions. Osamu does too, appreciating the sounds of rain and wind outside. It’s cold, yet it feels warm at the same time, inside a familiar shop where Suna is. He’s at ease, and he feels safe – and Osamu wants to talk about just… anything.

“Do ya know that I actually hate silver?”

“Really?” Suna asks. “You don’t look like you do, with those… glimmering silvers all over your body.”

Osamu snorts, unsure how to react to the statement. “Nah. Just because somethin’ has been appointed to me, it doesn’t define my preferences. An unfortunate thing as a royal. Everything has rules and its protocols.”

“But you must have a reason why, right?”

“Yeah,” Osamu breathes out, resting his chin on his hand. “I mean, surely ya know better than me that silver is less valuable than gold. And that’s the whole point. I don’t know- It sounds stupid, but everything about silver always reminds me that I will always be the  _ second. _ ”

He pulls his silver necklace on his neck and fiddles with it, buried emotions overflowing, suffocating his chest. “‘Tsumu’s the first son, first to throne. As the soon to be King, he deserves every best thing anyone has to offer. I could care less about becoming King, but the thing is…”

Osamu watches the adamantine gemstone between his fingers - in the dispersed light of the reflecting angles, a glint of his own reflection visible, familiar and mirroring his twin, seemingly so close and far at the same time - and lets out a long sigh.

“I’m only minutes younger than my twin, but we can never be treated the same.”

All this time, living under the shadows of his twin, frustration and discontent of himself can’t help but grow. Atsumu is not at fault for the unfairness between their lives, Osamu knows, but now, like every part of his floodgates being open, rogue, swift waves overflow his core. It’s freeing to finally live to tell the tale, yet at the same time, it’s unbelievably  _ terrifying  _ to expose the pieces of his vulnerability. What will Suna think? That the prince of this country is so prickly and weak?

Suna stays quiet, motions of his hands come to a stop. He pulls a chair, sits right in front of Osamu, and pulls out a gold and silver brooch.

“Which one that you like better, Osamu?”

Osamu isn’t sure how to reply. Is Suna diverting the topic of his conversation just like that?

“...What?”

“Trust me. Just… try to choose which one that you like better.”

Hesitantly, Osamu deviates his wary look from Suna to the brooches. Both are shaped into rose and leaves, differentiated by the patterns and gemstones decorating them. The gold one has small diamonds decorating the rose, adding opulence to the luxurious metal, while the silver one has only several diamonds scattered in between. It has an intricate, delicate pattern on the flower and leaves that Osamu can’t help but appreciate more. To him, it reflects the craftsman’s hard work and dedication to the piece.

“...This one.”

“The silver one, right? I also like this one better. Golds are rarer and make us more money, but do you know that being able to forge gold doesn’t mean that you can forge silver?”

Suna runs a finger on the silver brooch, tracing the detailed carving on the metal. “You see this? This kind of carving is not possible to do in gold. Pure gold is soft, and silver more so. But silver, because of its heat conducting properties, is harder to work with than gold.”

Osamu’s gaze is fixed on the brooch, looking at it in a new light upon the information.

“You can put the best gemstones in the world unto a gold, yet it can’t hold the traces of diligence like silver can,” Suna continues. “It is often overlooked by the beauty of golds, but when you slow down and appreciate it for a minute, you can see the invisible wonders buried inside it.”

Osamu looks up, and his eyes are locked into Suna’s own. “They’re a bit similar to you, aren’t they?”

He is rendered speechless. None of them looked away, lost in the unsteady waves of each other’s eyes, quiet as the dead of night, his heart flutters silently like cherry blossom petals in spring.

Is this… how people consider someone  _ special? _

Suna breaks it off first, slouching his back, and clears his throat. “Well, at least for me, I guess.”

Osamu gulps, his heart hammering inside his chest, and with his trembling fingers, he picks up the brooch, comprehending Suna’s words upon the accessory on his hand.

Somehow, everything becomes too hot, and everything becomes unbearably clear. The previous suffocating feeling comes back as his eyes feel heavy, breath hitching from his throat.

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice and lips trembling, keeping his eyes on the brooch. “Ya could say that.”

* * *

After Osamu returns with Ginjima picking him up, Rintarou can’t focus on his work with his thoughts distracting his attention away. The cloudy, aching eyes that dulled from its bright colours; the lines that draw much too deep on his facial features; and the lack of subtle exuberance radiating from his surroundings. It’s peculiar to Rintarou because reading emotions aren’t his field of expertise - and yet, there’s something about the Prince that quivers the strums he hides away, awakening his blunt emotions residing inside him like no one has ever done before. If Rintarou wants to be truly honest with himself, he doesn’t quite understand why Osamu makes him feel… things.

The grey, melancholic tone of Osamu doesn’t suit him, and Rintarou doesn’t like it. He seems relatively better after Rintarou’s sad attempt in cheering him up - much to his relief - but he wishes that he can do something more. Rintarou is not a knight in shining armour, nor he is a lionheart. He’s only a scrap of metal in front of gold; a commoner who subject to the royals to which Osamu belongs to.

But even a commoner like him should be able to do something, right?

That night, Rintarou takes out a hidden metal box from his closet and opens the lid. He pours out all of the contents in it, counting the golden and silver coins he diligently earned. Rintarou takes more than half of the coins, inserting them inside a pouch, and collects the rest on them back into his small bank.

He has made his mind.

In the morning, when Oomimi comes by to drop some materials, Rintarou makes his order.

“Here’s for today - a bag of gold, a bag of silver, and some bronze.”

“Thank you,” Suna says, passing him the payment. “Say, Oomimi-san, I want to order something. It’s for personal stuff.”

“What can I help you with?”

“Do you think you can find me some… platinum?”

Oomimi blinks once, twice, and in hesitation, he asks, “...Platinum? Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.” Suna takes out another pouch on his pocket, “Is this enough to get me one? I just need a size that’s sufficient enough to make a ring.”

“This is certainly more than enough, but...” Oomimi mumbles as he peeks into the pouch, “You know platinum is really hard to get. It’s only found in the utmost South of this whole continent-”

“I know. And I’m willing to pay.”

Oomimi stays quiet, maintaining his eye contact with Rintarou, and sighs. He  _ knows;  _ Rintarou is sure of it _.  _ The older man is Rintarou’s role model for something _. _

“Alright. I’ll try contacting an acquaintance who lives there. Maybe he could give me a discount.” Oomimi agrees, “Please make sure that you’re fine with this, Suna. It’s your personal life savings here that we’re talking about.”

Rintarou is more than assured. It’ll be worth it. “Yes.”

“If you say so. I’ll contact you again if I received news about it,” Oomimi says as he exits the workshop, “I hope everything will go well for you, Suna.”

Rintarou waves him goodbye and mumbles, “Yeah… I hope so too.”

* * *

Rintarou’s parents are out of town for business, leaving both their children in charge of the shop and orders. With only Rintarou and his sister working on the metals in the workshop, it’s oddly quiet, albeit the noises from clattering tools in the background.

Finally finishing the last details for a necklace, Rintarou takes out the small, precious velvet pouch he carries inside his pocket. He undoes the knot of the pouch and takes out a block of silver-coloured metal. The hunk in his hand is one of the metals that Rintarou seldom works with - much more precious, rare, and expensive than silver - a noble metal called  _ platinum. _

Sitting in his personal working space of the workshop, Rintarou starts by heating up the hunk until it turns red, hot enough to malleate the platinum using the metal mill. He repeatedly repeats the process to reach a desirable curve ribbon shape and anneals it once again.

“Making another ring, Rintarou-nii?” his sister calls, peeking through his shoulders without Rintarou realising it, “Oh- is that platinum? Let me see.”

“Wait,” Rintarou hums, hammering the platinum around a triblet and shaping it into a circular shape before giving the half-made ring into Fumiko’s outstretched palm. Her eyes glow up upon the ring as she rubs her fingers on the metal and observes it under the lamp - well, it’s not every day they get to work with platinum.

“ _ Beautiful, _ ” she breathes out, returning the ring to Rintarou. “I can already imagine setting giant sized diamonds into it. Who ordered this, anyway?”

“No one. I’m making it for a gift.”

“A  _ gift?  _ Nii-chan, how much does that cost you?”

“Around seventy percent of my savings, I think.”

“ _ Oh my god. _ Who are you giving-  _ oh. _ ”

“What are you rambling on, Fumiko,” Rintarou says, rolling his eyes. He adjusts the length by cutting off the excess. “And don’t you have work to do? I see that gold neglected on your table.”

“Oh- yes! I need to finish that by today-!”

Fumiko returns to her corner and works while Rintarou lines the metal up to adjust the ends. He tightens it, closing the gap as taut as possible, and moves on with the soldering. With both ends connected now, the first step in making the ring is done. It takes the round shape of the ring, ready to use, but the plain, still rough metal is far from being called worthy as jewellery.

Rintarou needs to get the ring smoothened. The filing and sanding for it take a long time, but as a jeweller, he’s anything but impatient. Crafting jewellery is a work of patience, honed by years of experience and trained hands.

He’s rubbing the tool into the ring when Fumiko’s humming comes to a stop. “Nii-chan, you like him, don’t you?”

The question catches Rintarou off-guard as he pauses. He looks towards where his sister is, to find her immersed in her own handicraft - what makes her asking such a question so suddenly?

“Who?” Rintarou asks back, pretending the uninvited image of dark hair and grey irises never comes into his mind.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know, Rintarou-nii,” she argues, the faint buzz of metal soldering humming in the back, “The prince. You like Osamu-sama, don’t you?”

Rintarou doesn’t respond to Fumiko’s blatant accusation as he carves a motive on the metal.  _ Like? _ It’s true that Osamu is special, different from the ones that he has known - the indescribable warmth glowing inside his chest whenever they are together; of how his heart skips a beat and flutters upon Osamu’s angelic smile that appears once every blue moon; how he wants to hold his hand and whispers that everything is going to be okay whenever there’s sadness swimming in Osamu’s eyes; and how Rintarou yearns to offer and give everything that he has just to make Osamu happy like no one else can ever do.

“You know that your feelings won’t-”

“I know,” Rintarou says, voice soft and even - he made peace and accepted the fact of it already. “I know that better than anyone.”

The buzz of metal in the background goes off, and there’s a thud on the table from a tool being put.

“...Then why?”

“It’s not like I want it to happen, Fumiko.” His own voice sounds like a defeat even to his ears. Whatever feelings he has for Osamu aren’t something that he can do about either. It’s not something that he has solutions for, both from his and Osamu’s side - there’s nothing more than Rintarou can do except to bury these feelings and hoping that it’ll fade in time. It’s practically forbidden for a commoner wishing for a royal, much less imagine a happy ending. Osamu is a prince, a man of noble birth, while Rintarou is merely a jeweller’s son, a lowly _commoner._ The world that Rintarou lives in is not like fairy tales he used to read to Fumiko for her bedtime stories where everything is possible through devotion, love, and honesty - it’s just impossible to bridge the vast space of their social status in this world.

Rintarou doesn’t even dare to hope.

“One day, you’re just acquaintances, and another day, you find your feelings grow. You don’t... choose to whom it grows. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t choose someone who’ll only give me… a heartbreak in the end too.”

The chair creaks in protest when Fumiko raises from her seat, footsteps approaching Rintarou, and careful arms envelop him into a soft hug from behind.

“You never said something so sad before, Rintarou-nii,” she whispers, arms holding him tighter, “It makes me sad too.”

Rintarou puts aside his tools - dark, thick clouds finally pouring its rain until his insides are flooding - and holding the comfort of Fumiko’s arm in one hand, he sighs, sadly, as he watches the half-finished piece.

If there’s anything about Osamu he wishes to be, it is that he hopes that Osamu would accept the platinum token of Rintarou’s unspoken feelings.

* * *

Osamu is tempted to stay the night over at Suna’s. It’s still drizzling, and the rain doesn’t seem to stop anytime soon. Hitoshi comes by in the evening by their usual carriage, telling Osamu to go back since everyone is looking for him. Hitoshi is drenched wet despite his raincoat, boots all dirty with mud as he rides the horse through the rain, and Osamu feels terrible for his friend that he complies almost instantly. He must’ve been ordered to look for him, and well, where else Osamu would be if not at Suna’s?

Hitoshi requested Suna to keep a look on Osamu’s horse for tonight, and someone will come to pick it up tomorrow morning. In silence, Hitoshi leads Osamu into the carriage, where some blankets have been provided to him. Snuggling into one of the blankets, he feels like he’s twelve again, spending his weekends in the Ojiro household along with Atsumu, before being picked up by the guards on the next day - or when they’re lucky, their mother would be the one who took them back into the palace.

Right,  _ Atsumu _ . Now that Osamu is in a calmer state of mind, his rationale thinks that he didn’t deserve the yelling and punching. He didn’t do anything wrong - it’s just his innocent, playful jab egged on Osamu’s already fuming rage that he lost control of himself. Guilt washed into him for all the inconvenience he has caused to Hitoshi, Atsumu, the guards, and the servants by his actions.

“I’m sorry for making ya do all of this,” Osamu whispers when they arrive through the back doors.

“It’s been a while since I last played under the rain, so don’t worry about it,” Hitoshi throws him a sideway smile, shrugging. “Honestly, no one is surprised. They’ve been speculating about how long ya can hold it in against the King, and well...”

“Really, now?”

“With the way he’s treatin’ ya? Really. We know the truth. Anyone would’ve blown up in a week.”

Hearing genuine reassurance alleviates his guilt a little - he’s almost happy to know that unexpectedly, there are many people who understand. Hitoshi escorted him back to his chambers, where the servants had prepared a warm bath. He doesn’t know how much he sits in the tub, staring and thinking of nothing, soaking until the water has gone cold. In a newly relaxed state, he’s gone sleepy, and all he wants is to sleep the night off and leave the rest of his problems for tomorrow.

An uninvited presence in his room prevents him from doing so.

“...Mum?”

The Queen, still dressed in her formal attire, is sitting on the edge of his bed. Her gloved hand is tapping on the space beside her, and hesitantly, Osamu sits there. “Hello.”

Osamu can never really predict her intentions. She could be mad, telling him off and demand him to apologise to his father; or she may be here to give him a long lecture about controlling himself from his emotions; or maybe, by the kind look of her eyes and the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulders, she could be here for Osamu – not as the Queen, but as his mother.

“How are ya feeling?”

It’s nothing but a simple gesture, yet once again, he feels the tears welling up in his eyes, threatening to pour out. When was the last time he had his mother’s arm around him again? It has been nothing but official duties between them recently, and now, in his mother’s embrace, Osamu feels really, really young.

“’m not good,” he says truthfully, letting out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

She chuckles, rubbing soft circles into Osamu’s back. “There’s nothing to apologise for, honey. You’ve done an amazing job with yer duties. It’s okay to let it go once in a while, y’know?”

He promised himself not to break down in front of her, but gone is his resolve, leaving him in an emotional mess and sounds of faint weeps and breathing echoes. The voices soon die out with him in his mother’s embrace as he drifts off from consciousness. Deep in his sleep, his mother kisses his forehead softly, tucks him into his bed before blowing off the candles, and quietly leaves the room.

It’s Osamu’s best sleep for the first time in a long time.

* * *

When Osamu regains his consciousness, bright sunlight is emitting through his windows. Still disoriented, he tries to remember what happened before he drifted off to sleep last night. He ruffles his sheets, and a whiff of faint floral perfume goes up through his nose, and the memory of yesterday’s emotional turmoil comes hitting back.

Now that he is released from all the pent-up emotions, he can calmly and truthfully say that it’s out of his character to lose control. It’s freeing, like the weight on his shoulders and chest alleviated, but there’s something more that Osamu needs to do.

He prepares himself for the day, covering the nasty bruise that has formed in his cheek, and looks for Atsumu, but he can’t find him anywhere. An incidental meeting with Aran on the training grounds may hold the answer he seeks.

“Aran-kun,” Osamu greets, “Have ya seen ‘Tsumu?”

“He didn’t tell ya?” Aran questions and Osamu shakes his head. “He has an errand to do at Amanoshiro. The group left earlier at dawn - I think they’ll be back by next week.”

“I see.” He can’t say that he’s disappointed to hear that, though. “Thank you for telling me, Aran-kun.”

Waiting the week to pass, Osamu stays in the palace, occasionally going out to the markets, but he decided that he shouldn’t visit Suna just yet. At least, not until he deals with his own shit here. He works on the documents, doing regular social visits to orphanages and nursing homes, trains with the soldiers, and accompanies his mother in internal affairs meetings. Finally, after passing a week that feels like forever, the guards announce Atsumu’s return from Amanoshiro. He waits until nightfall when Atsumu is free from work and knocks on his door thrice, followed by two lighter taps on the door to declare his presence. There are no voices coming from behind the doors, and Osamu tries knocking on his door again, repeating the pattern to no avail.

Perhaps Atsumu has fallen asleep already, or maybe, he doesn’t want to see Osamu just yet.

After four tries and minutes of waiting without any reply, Osamu is ready to leave when a soft ‘come in’ stops him. He opens the door of Atsumu’s room, dark with only moonlight enlightening the room. Atsumu is lying on the bed, body uncovered by the blanket, and even in the dark room, Osamu can see the heavy eyebags resting under Atsumu’s eyes. He looks exhausted, without any signs of being asleep yet.

“Hey,” Osamu mumbles, sitting on the edge of the bed. Atsumu glances at him, and in a closer view, the splotches of yellow and brown of the healing bruise on Atsumu’s cheek are visible. All the words that he has arranged inside his head evaporate, leaving his mind blank.

He’s at loss of what he has to say, but he needs to say  _ something _ . “I, uh, about last week...”

Atsumu stays silent, face neutral like he’s too tired to even react, honey eyes staring back. Osamu fiddles with his fingers and looks down, unsure of what he has to say.

“I’m sorry… I was- I shouldn’t have said that.”

There is a moment of silence, confining and piercing to Osamu, until Atsumu finally whispers, “...me too. I’m sorry.”

“I… lost control of myself. And I took it out on ya. It’s not- it’s never yer fault.”

Atsumu shifts on his bed, turning his face facing Osamu. “I know, but I can’t help but think about what ya said too anyways.”

Osamu then lies down to the empty side of Atsumu’s side of the bed and glances at his twin. “Tell me about it.”

And so, they talk the night away.

* * *

The next time Osamu has the chance to visit Suna alone is approximately one month after his sudden haphazard visit. He feels like owning an explanation to Suna - though he’s not obligated to - because it’s rude for barging into his place in such a state. Or truthfully, his pride only wants an excuse to be understood.

Osamu arrives at noon, and coincidentally, Suna is free from his shift already, replaced by Fumiko. Suna brings the mat, and Osamu carries the basket of lunch Suna’s mother made for them into the grass fields.

“It’s been a while,” Osamu mentions, taking a bite of the chicken sandwich. “Hanging out like this, I mean.”

“Yeah. If Atsumu or Hitoshi are around, there’s always something rowdy going on around here.”

“Right?”

It’s calm, quiet, and comfortable – everything feels so natural between them. He can stay silent if he wants to, listening to what Suna has to say, or he can talk about anything, while Suna would listen to his every word. More often than not, they chat about the things they have on their mind, and sometimes, they sit beside each other, enjoying each other’s presence without saying a word. Suna is gentle - inquisitive, yet patient - he lets Osamu decides his pace, stepping in only when he’s ready, and it’s incredibly easy to fall for such a pleasant way.

“I haven’t had the chance to properly thank you.”

Suna glances, confused. “For what?”

“That day. Ya probably don’t realise it, but ya really helped a lot. So thank you.”

The grey in Suna’s eyes turns brighter for a second, and Osamu doesn’t miss the soft pink on his cheeks when he turns away.

“I’m glad I could help.”

* * *

They laze around in the field. Their backs are on the ground, relishing in the cool breeze of the wind as they share some stories. It’s not until the afternoon that Suna finally gets up, getting ready to go back to work, and Osamu prepares to leave.

“Osamu,” Suna calls, catching onto him before he leaves, “Give me a minute. I want to give you something.”

“Ya got some more auntie’s sandwich with ya?”

“No.” From his pocket, Suna reveals a small black box the size of a palm. If Osamu knows better, it’s a… “Come here and open it.”

Osamu doesn’t really receive stuff if not for an exchange. Did someone from the kingdom, or perhaps outside, order something from Suna’s shop for him as a present?

He opens the box to see a silver-coloured ring with a golden band in the middle, with lines of tiny diamonds across the band. It’s a simple design, metal shining and smooth without embedded patterns and abundant carvings that Osamu has used to, yet it gives off a regal look. This ring is most certainly not remarkable, plain and boring in the middle of gorgeous jewellery scattered around the shop or in Osamu’s collection - but if anything, there’s something honest and thoughtful about this ring.

“It looks like silver, isn’t?” Suna asks, pulling the ring out and places it in Osamu’s palm. “But it’s not. This is platinum. A whole different kind from silver and gold.”

_ Platinum.  _ Noble metal purer than gold, a rare breed to mankind, a treasure that’s only been passed down from generation to generation. Not even the royal family acquires a handful of them. And now, Osamu is being presented with one in the form of a ring. Slowly, he slips the ring into his finger.

“It looks good, but I’m not married.”

“How about putting it here?” Suna utters, tapping on Osamu’s middle finger. “Individuality. It symbolises personal identity, self-worth, and life purpose. ”

Osamu likes the meaning of it. He moves the ring into his middle finger, where it snugs the base of his finger perfectly well, raising his hand to appreciate how it suits him. Individuality is something that Osamu has been seeking, and this ring in his middle finger will become his reminder of the main things that he has yet to understand. Not as a prince, but as a  _ human,  _ that he will pursue the reason for him to stand on this ground, seeking for who he truly is.

How  _ captivating,  _ the symbols that humans have come up with, and the power it holds to inspire others to move forward.

“Who is it from?”

“Someone who wishes to see how you will blossom.”

Osamu thinks of Suna’s vague answer, demanding him to answer before he leaves, but the tender, pure look in his grey as he looks at Osamu is worth a thousand words, vulnerable without any walls; and in no words, he knows the answer to his question.

His breath catches up inside his throat, and holding it back, he whispers, “Thank you… truly.”

A rare smile forms in Suna’s face as he turns away to return to his workshop.

“You’re welcome.”

The skies are an ombre of orange, absent from any clouds, and Osamu doesn’t know why the rain won’t stop falling as he returns home.

* * *

Minutes turn into hours’ worth of turning and flipping upon his warm, cotton sheets where Osamu’s back lies. It was in the middle of the night, and he simply can’t sleep as he stares blankly at the ceilings.

There is no point in forcing it, not when his mind is busy elsewhere.

He rises up and opens the balcony windows, and rests on the railings. The night is bright, full moon shining shimmering above him in all its glory in the dark, clear from grey, murky clouds. The round moon feels so close, bigger than what Osamu used to see, almost like it’s within his hands’ reach. Raising up his right hand, he covers the moon from his sight, casting shadows on the back of his hand along with the ring adorning his middle finger. Osamu removes it and studies the anatomy of the ring once again - now glistening under the soft moonlight - like he’s never going to be bored with it.

Is this what people usually feel when they receive a gift? Eyes lightening up and a smile creeping up into their face as they open the wrappings; merry, like flowers blooming in spring or mild fireworks sparkling in the sky?

Maybe he’s just overly sentimental over the feelings aroused over the gift. But today, it’s the first time that Osamu ever feels so genuinely happy receiving one, free from the obligations and expectations to return the favour back – and it makes everything much more special.

It makes Osamu want to do something wholeheartedly for Suna too, like he did.

He requests for oak woods the next morning, and by the time he acquired it in the afternoon, Osamu begins to work on his handicraft. He makes time to work on it in his free time, diligently creating it from scratch as days pass into weeks. He cuts the wood by himself and forms the pieces into a shape. His fingers move delicately, afraid of thwarting the fine wood, and carves whatever motives his feelings guide him upon the surface.

Osamu knows that there’s nothing that his hands can make to compare it’s worth with Suna’s present for his own, but at least, he wishes that the sensibility he pours into this work can mean  _ something. _

“I know it’s nothing much,” Osamu says and places the box by the glass counter. “But I hope you’ll accept it.”

Suna blinks - twice - and tilts his head a little. “This is for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh wow,” Suna whistles, bringing the box into his hands. He turns it side to side, his fingers following the carvings, “Is this- You made it…?”

Osamu hums in reply, cherishing the subtle change of Suna’s features, and everything seems so clear - is this it, what they call the joy of giving? The warm blossoms scattering inside his body, unable to explain in words, so precious that it’s invaluable? A feeling that makes you want to devote more?

If this is it, Osamu is willing to give more. And perhaps, it’ll be reciprocated.

“Open it.”

Suna obliges, and inside the box, rests a single red rose that Osamu freshly picked from the palace gardens in the morning. He doesn’t know much about flowers and their symbols, but-

“Passion, desire,” Suna says, picking up the rose, tender eyes meeting Osamu’s own. “And love.”

Osamu grins in return.

“Are you… are you sure about this, Your Highness?”

“Don’t call me that,” Osamu utters, pieces of his resolve finally falling into place, “If it’s with you, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

The corner of Suna’s eyes crinkles, a soft smile breaking into a grin as he passes the rose back to Osamu.

“Then, would you accept the token of mine too?”

Osamu picks up the flower, tucking it into his shirt, and in return, he holds Suna’s hand in his own. “It would be my pleasure.”

**Author's Note:**

> origin of the name arginti:  
> argenti = silver, in latin  
> gin = silver, in japanese  
> mix them both up and voila, arginti it is.
> 
> special credits to this [ video ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPnAzPEmCSo) as a guide to make this fic more alive!
> 
> this was supposed to be purely sunaosa story, but somehow, family stuff works its way into this fic. this was also supposed to be below 10k, but again, somehow, i managed to make it double.  
> honestly, this fic strays far from what i had in mind. its not my greatest work but i still hope it turns out well.  
> feedbacks are welcome. thank you for stopping by!


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